


Frankenstein's Daughter

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-27
Updated: 2006-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Playing God is a privilege that comes with responsibilities, especially when those responsibilities get angry.  (03/12/2004)





	1. CHAPTER 1--Alone Among Unfamiliar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

CHAPTER 1--Alone Among Unfamiliar Faces 

_"Hateful day when I received life! ... Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turn from me in disgust?"_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

Alone. 

Silence. Creak, creak, creak. Only the walls make any sound at all. 

Alone. 

It is cold, here. She shivers and rubs her arms, but it doesn't do any good. The creaking sends a thrill of fear down her spine. 

Little lights outside, little stars, diamonds on black velvet. Light. 

It is not enough. Her hand on the window blocks them out like a great cloud descending over the sky. She pokes at the little shining light on the console, but it doesn't do anything. She doesn't know how to work the ship. 

Space shall win. 

Alone. 

It is cold, here; yet the cold is infinitely warmer than the hate in her heart. 

Alone... 

What's this? Something new? Her eyes cannot focus on the shape. A huge gray silhouette slides into full view from the little window, and a sharply exhaled breath breaks the silence. 

Then a crackle, a stutter, over the frozen instruments. She tries to reply, even though she doesn't know how, but her wordless voice freezes before it can leave her lips. 

A thud outside... 

The shape...the ship... draws closer to her little lifeboat, insignificant and puny next to the great hulking thing above. Are they coming to her? Or is she going to them? Either way, they are coming. 

Not alone. 

"The pod is inside the shuttle bay," Lieutenant Reed informed the captain matter-of-factly. "There is one lifesign aboard." He scowled. "I couldn't tell before, sir; the thing's registering temperatures at nearly 15 degrees below zero." 

The captain, chin resting on his hand, looked up. 

"Hoshi, come with me. T'Pol, you have the bridge, and tell the Doctor to meet us there," he said. "Malcolm, you're with me, too. No telling what this thing might have inside it." A swift jerk of the captain's head, and the lieutenant leapt smoothly from his chair and followed Archer into the turbolift. 

"That thing looked like it had been out there a good while, sir," said Reed. He swallowed nervously, and added, "It's all covered over with ice." 

"Well, there is a lifesign inside," said Archer, more cheerfully than he felt. "And it was broadcasting a distress signal...we have an obligation to help whoever or whatever is inside." 

The turbolift stopped with a slight jerk, and the captain strode off purposefully. Reed swallowed again and followed. Hoshi stared at their retreating backs for a second and then ran after the two men. 

"How cold did it get in the shuttlepod, Malcolm?" Hoshi asked Reed in a low voice as they slipped through the shuttlebay doors. He cocked an eyebrow at her. 

"Too cold. I think we were unconscious through the worst of it," he replied just as softly. "Whatever is making that lifesign in there is probably just as badly off. Or worse." The ensign gulped, and looked sideways at the little pod, melting ice running off of it in rivulets and puddling on the floor. 

Dr. Phlox, as cheery as ever, fluttered around the pod as two crewmen and the captain worked the latches, trying to get it open. Hoshi imagined herself inside the pod, unable to move more than a few centimeters in any direction, and shuddered. Reed spared her a glance as he went to help the crewmen, but didn't say anything. 

Archer leapt backwards as the entire top half of the little ship swung open and a cloud of gas hissed into the shuttlebay. "There is someone inside!" exclaimed Phlox, and darted through the gas as Malcolm struggled with the straps holding the person in. 

"It's like a coffin," said Hoshi softly. She wasn't even sure if the words had really left her mouth until Malcolm turned and gave her a look that plainly said, not the best thing to say at the moment. 

It was becoming more and more obvious that her talents would not be needed here. Reed and Phlox backed away from the pod, bearing between them a small alien with long yellow hair whose head nodded onto Malcolm's shoulder. Hoshi squinted, but she could not tell whether it was male or female, or something else altogether. Whatever it was, it sent a chill down Hoshi's spine. 

"Crewman, please bring the stretcher. I need to get my patient to Sickbay at once," said the doctor, all his cheer replaced by decisive action now that a life was involved. 

Hoshi stood back as they loaded the little alien onto the stretcher, Phlox fussing and bustling all the while, scuttling through the hyposprays in his medical bag. She shared a glance with Lieutenant Reed and noticed that the man had gone pale. The captain ordered them both back to their stations. 

"I doubt either of you will be needed for a while," he told them, glancing at the alien as Phlox and his crewmen quickly wheeled the gurney toward the door. 

"What's wrong, Malcolm?" Hoshi asked on the turbolift. 

"Nothing," said the lieutenant. "She was...she was so cold coming out of there...I keep seeing myself and Commander Tucker in Shuttlepod One." 

"How do you know it's a she?" 

"I don't...it just seems right," he said. "Her...it, if you prefer...eyes were open when I got that thing apart. Great yellow things like a cat's, almost. And its...her...lips were moving, but I couldn't hear anything. Then Phlox came and she...it... went unconscious." 

Hoshi patted him on the back. "I'm sure Phlox will be able to help," she said as the lift stopped and they walked out onto the bridge. "Don't worry, Lieutenant." 

Phlox at that moment was indeed helping; the alien's temperature had shot up by about six degrees already, and the signs of hypothermia were disappearing. He smiled happily as he found sex organs and identified the alien as a female. What was her species, though? Phlox was quite sure he had never seen any race quite like this. He scanned over the patient's body and then stopped in front of the display, murmuring under his breath. 

"What is it?" asked Captain Archer, coming up behind the doctor. 

"Well, Captain, it is very curious," said the doctor. "I would have said anything like this would be impossible..." 

He scanned the patient again and shook his head in disbelief. Archer raised his eyebrows, waiting for the doctor to tell him what was the matter. 

"Captain," said Phlox, no trace of his customary grin on his face, "I would say that this woman looks as if someone has put her together from several different species. And then reanimated the pieces in some way." 

"You're saying they built her?" said Archer incredulously. He turned and stared at the unconscious alien. 

Phlox looked too, his eyes grim. 

"Yes, Captain," he answered. "Someone has been playing god."


	2. CHAPTER 2--Friends in Strange Places

CHAPTER 2--Friends in Strange Places 

_"I may boast...I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that was spoken. Whilst I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters...and this opened before me a wide field for wonder and delight."_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

Her eyes flutter and then open. 

Great yellow orbs...a human would have compared them to those of a cat, but of course she had never seen a cat. 

These walls were different, not so close and not so dark. And not cold at all. 

Around her, little lights, colored red and blue and green, blinked on and off. Machines, she knows. Not-alive. But not dead, either; death is a quality of life. You must be alive first to be dead. 

She slips out of bed, hugging the blanket around her shoulders. It isn't cold here, but she isn't taking any chances. 

A voice calls to her; a funny fat man stands behind her. He speaks again and she does not know the words to tell him that she doesn't understand him. 

He lets out a great breath. He sounds mad, out of patience. Like Him. She cowers, and he is immediately taken aback. She does not understand the words themselves, but she comprehends the feeling behind them. 

This is not Him. She doesn't need to be afraid of him. He isn't a friend, but he will not hurt her. 

She relaxes and allows the funny fat man to lead her back to bed. 

"Dr. Phlox says our visitor may have amnesia," said Archer. The senior staff, standing around the table in his ready room, shared glances with each other, except for T'Pol, who kept her eyes fixed on her captain. 

"So what does that mean?" asked Trip. "We can't figure out where she comes from, or what?" 

"Well...no, Trip, we don't know," replied the captain. "She's awake, but she can't speak and she doesn't understand English or Denobulan at all. There's nothing in the Vulcan database or the Starfleet database that's anything like her." 

Dr. Phlox and Archer had agreed earlier that they wouldn't reveal the woman's strange physiology until they knew more about the situation. It wasn't readily apparent to the naked eye that nearly every single one of her organs and limbs was of a different species, somehow grafted together into a marvelous whole. The doctor actually had spoken with a good deal of admiration after examining the woman further. "She's put together in such a way that all of her organs are working with great efficiency. It is most likely that she has never been sick a day in her life and never will." 

"Captain Archer and I think that we should try to teach her your language," chirped the doctor. "It may be the shock of being trapped in a small freezing lifepod for days has caused some trauma in her memory and cortical abilities." 

"I'll do it," said Hoshi. Archer grinned. 

"Who else would I choose?" he asked, and Hoshi blushed. "Besides English lessons," he added, "we think it would be a good idea for someone to show her around the ship. I don't know how similar her culture is to ours, but she might see something like she knows and jog her memory." He looked around at his senior staff, expecting Trip or Travis to volunteer, but to his great surprise Malcolm spoke up. 

"I can help with that," he said. "Maybe I can help Hoshi as well; I taught my sister how to read when she was four." 

Trip, for some reason, looked highly amused by the current proceedings. "What's up, Malcolm?" he asked. "You never want some alien runnin' all over the ship, no matter who they are. And now you're showin' one around?" 

The lieutenant's eyes narrowed slightly. "I highly doubt the captain wants her to learn to speak like a down-home hillbilly Yankee," he shot back. 

"Okay, that's enough," said Archer. "I hope that Yankee crack doesn't include me," he added sternly to Reed. 

"No, sir." 

"All right then. Ensign Sato, Lieutenant Reed, you're both on light duty for the time being. I expect your extra time to be used for educating our guest. Dismissed." They filed out. Archer caught a mutter from Trip as he passed him on the way out, "Damn snotty Brit, doesn't even know Yankees are northerners. Prob'ly thinks we're still Colonials, for gosh sakes..." 

Archer rubbed his temples and wondered if this sort of headache ever happened on Vulcan ships. Probably not. Vulcans never invented pecan pie, after all. He caught Malcolm's sleeve as the lieutenant passed by, the last one out the door. 

"Malcolm, why do you want to do this? I have to agree with Trip; you don't like having anyone not from the crew walk all over the ship." 

The lieutenant looked bewildered. "I don't really know, sir," he replied haltingly. "I suppose I feel somewhat sympathetic towards her. After the experience Trip and I had in the shuttle..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel it is something that needs to be done, something that I must do." 

Archer clapped the smaller man on the back. "Well, I for one applaud the initiative. You and Hoshi will be great teachers, I'm sure." 

"Thank you, sir. I'll certainly try." Reed turned and abruptly left, practically speedwalking out the door. Archer sighed and wondered if he'd ever manage to get the man to act normally around him. 

"Door," said Hoshi. "This is a door." Malcolm inwardly sighed and opened and closed the door again. 

"Door," repeated the alien. She pointed at the lieutenant, who hastily stifled a yawn. "Mak-um!" 

"Good! Who am I?" Hoshi pointed at herself. 

"Hosee. You are Hosee." 

"Very good!" cried Hoshi. Malcolm tried not to yawn again, and smiled, amused by how much the normally white-knuckled linguist was getting into this. He'd asked earlier why couldn't they just talk and let the alien pick it up. Hoshi had given him a scathing scowl. "You have to know some basics to know that it's a language in the first place. She's like a baby now; she has to relearn the fact that sounds can mean objects around her." 

"So what do I do?" 

"You help me get that into her head. After all, we don't know what her old language was like. She might be telepathic and communicate entirely with emotions for all we know. Or she might use body language." 

So here he was, opening and closing a door or gesturing to a bed or a wheel or who knew what else. He felt rather like a child himself, learning the language along with the alien. Phlox had told them that the alien's visual abilities seemed to be more or less comparable with humans; she saw the same colors, although he said her visual acuity was much sharper than the average human. So Hoshi had procured from somewhere a set of cards with each color of the rainbow on them. 

Right now she was holding them up. "Red," said the alien. "Green. Boo. Yella. Ornge. Green. Pah-ple." Hoshi smiled. She did not speak in baby talk, which Malcolm heartily appreciated. He could remember feeling rather insulted as a small child when people did that to him. 

"Who am I? Name?" asked the alien. Hoshi raised her eyebrows and glanced up at Malcolm, who shrugged. 

"Do you want a name?" he asked, looking into the woman's cat eyes. 

"Name." She pointed to herself. "Mak-um. Hosee," pointing to each of them in turn, and then herself again. "Name?" 

"What are some good names, Malcolm?" asked Hoshi. Both women stared intently at him. Hoshi mouthed, She doesn't remember her own! 

"Er...Elizabeth, Jane, Anne...err...Catherine..." For some reason a rhyme he had once known about Henry the Eighth's wives kept running through his head. "Er, er...Hermione, Parvati...Lavender...Minerva..." Stop with the Harry Potter! he told himself firmly. 

Hoshi laughed. "I read those too when I was a kid," she said lightly. "Do you like any of those names?" 

"Amata," said the alien suddenly, her face lighting up. "Amata...called Amata..." 

"Your name is Amata?" asked Hoshi. "That's a pretty name." 

The alien- Amata- seemed suddenly confused. "Not name...called Amata." 

"A nickname, perhaps?" asked Malcolm, but she did not seem to know. They had figured out that a funny little jerk of her shoulders meant 'no' and right now her shoulders looked as though they were going into spasm. 

"Do you want us to call you Amata?" asked Hoshi. 

She thought about this for a long minute, then nodded (something she'd picked up from them in the last few hours). "Amata...is name. Now name." 

"Okay," said Hoshi, and then looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh! I promised T'Pol I'd get her some translations by now! Malcolm, can you take her to get something to eat in the Mess Hall? I'll meet you there." 

He nodded, rather helplessly, and wondered what had gotten into him when he'd volunteered for this. Those eyes of hers had plagued his vision all last night and this morning, ever since she'd come on board, and he wasn't sure why. He smiled at Amata and offered his hand. 

"Let's go to the Mess Hall and get some food," he said, rubbing his belly. "Is your belly hollow?" he added, smiling inwardly. "Hungry?" 

They left Sickbay and went into the hallways. "This is a hallway," said Malcolm; Hoshi had told him earlier to talk whenever he did anything so she would pick up on the language. "It's, er, it's what we use to get around in the ship. There's turbolifts, too. In fact, we have to get on a turbolift. I guess you could say the turbolifts are vertical transportation and the corridors, er hallways, are horizontal transportation." He waved vertically and horizontally as he said the respective words. 

"Mal-kum," said Amata carefully. "Hallway. Turbolift." He thought for a moment she was asking a question, and then realized that she was just repeating his words. He kept talking, stopping when she pointed at something. 

It made for a slow journey. At one point, Trip walked by, grinning moronically at the odd duo as Malcolm explained a diagnostic keypad the best he could in simple language to someone who didn't remember anything whatsoever about technology. 

"Don't tell her all our ship secrets now!" he said good-naturedly. Malcolm pointed and said, "Trip!" 

"Drip," she repeated but looked at Malcolm. Trip doubled over in gales of laughter, and stopped when she said, "Drip, Mal-kum, that is Drip." 

"Yes, he is DDDDrip," replied Malcolm, laughing himself. Amata didn't understand the joke but she joined in the laughter. "No, actually he is TTrip. Not a drip. He's a damned Yankee, but he's all right." Trip looked appeased, and even joined in the attempt to explain various parts of the ship's corridors. Malcolm noticed with curiosity that she wouldn't go near Trip, and only answered his questions if Malcolm repeated them. 

Hoshi was not in the mess hall yet when they arrived, so Malcolm took her through the line, pointing out all the different things to eat and letting her take whatever she wanted. Again, she wouldn't speak to anyone else in the mess hall except for him, until Hoshi arrived. 

"She's probably just nervous around others," said Hoshi when Malcolm mentioned it. "She's learning amazingly fast, though; I'm sure she'll get over it." 

That was true; by the end of the meal, Amata had begun to speak in simple sentences. Hoshi and Malcolm spoke about everything and anything, and she seemed to simply absorb the language. When Hoshi left her with Malcolm to go and report to the captain, the little translator was positively beaming, sure she had found someone with a talent for language to rival her own. Malcolm took her back to sickbay, per Phlox's orders, and explained to Amata that she had to rest now, to get better from her ordeal in the little shuttlepod. 

He sat by her side until she went to sleep. * 

Humans. She knows something of them now. She knows how to express herself somewhat. 

He never taught her language. All she knew was what He said over her head. Talehjg amata dhguh, dhu shabta habbat. 

Concepts, only. She could wait to know what He said until she knew more words. She didn't know how to say them in her new friends' language. 

There was another word she'd learned today. 

She had seen him first of all, before the darkness had fallen over her eyes. 

He was a friend. 

Friend.


	3. CHAPTER 3--Questions and Answers

CHAPTER 3--Questions and Answers 

_"He suffered not...not the ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the lingering detail of its execution...impotent envy and bitter indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance."_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

"Good morning, Malcolm, how are you today?" said Amata carefully and precisely as the lieutenant walked in. Malcolm, not expecting such a coherent greeting, stopped and stared while the two women laughed. 

"Very well, thank you!" he replied. "You've gotten a lot better since this morning!" 

"We've been working all day on proper grammar," Hoshi said. "She's picked up a lot of words from simply hearing the crew talk. After you went on duty we sat in the Mess Hall for a few hours and just listened." Amata smiled her unnerving grin. 

"So what else did you do today?" Malcolm directed the question at Amata; Hoshi smiled in encouragement. 

"We went to the Mess Hall. I listened to many people speak. I met the Cook and he gave us some pie. Then we went to Sickbay. I helped Doctor Phlox feed his pets. And then we walked the Porthos," she answered, obviously proud of how much she had improved. 

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Hoshi. "Did you notice she has an accent?" he asked. 

"What is an accent?" Amata asked. 

"It means you speak in a certain way," replied Hoshi, and added to Malcolm, "She picked it up from you, Lieutenant; no one else on the ship has a British accent." 

He shook his head. Trip was going to have a field day with this one. "At least she's not imitating Commander Tucker," he said dryly. 

"I have to go on duty," Hoshi said, smiling. "I started teaching her the alphabet. She's a very fast learner. We're on what already?" 

"M," said Amata. "Emmm for MMMalcolm." She picked up a set of flashcards and held them out to the lieutenant. He flipped through them, noting with amusement that Hoshi had put pictures of things-and people- from around the ship on the cards instead of the human trademarked C for Cat and B for Ball. 

"V for Vulcan?" he asked. T'Pol's stern face glared at him from below the printed letter. 

Hoshi shrugged. "Why not?" she said. "I'll be off at 1700 hours. The captain wants to talk to us after my shift. See you then." Waving at Amata, she left, heading for the bridge. 

"So, do you want to move on to N?" asked Malcolm. His own picture from the personnel files (he'd always hated it) stared up from the M and made him nervous. N for nervous, he thought wryly. 

"No," said Amata. "I have to tell you something." She had stopped smiling and looked instead uncharacteristically grim. "I know how to say it now." 

"What is it?" he asked, dropping into the chair vacated by Hoshi. 

"Talehg amata dhguh, dhu shabta habbat," she said, and the words came smoothly from her mouth, lacking the hesitation that marked her newlylearned English. 

"Are your memories coming back?" he asked, leaning forward in the chair. "Why didn't you tell Hoshi? She could program the translator to allow you to speak in your own language so you don't have to go through all this." 

Amata stared at him in confusion. "Memories coming back?" 

"Of where you came from," Malcolm said. "Of who you are!" 

"Where did they go?" 

"The doctor said you had amnesia, er, you couldn't remember anything about your past. Your life." 

"I remember past," Amata said, and Malcolm could tell that he'd only confused her more. She seemed be working from a different set of facts than he was and neither could figure out the other's base premise. "I remember past...before the little ship. I remember all, but I do not know how to say it." 

Malcolm shook his head, not comprehending. "You don't remember your language?" 

"I never had language!" she said, frustrated. "I learn how to speak from Hoshi and Malcolm. Not from before. No language before. But I remember. He spoke language. And I remember what He said. Talehg amata dhguh, dhu shabta habbat." 

"What does that mean?" asked Malcolm, now completely lost. "You never learned any language, but someone spoke to you and you remembered it?" 

"Yes. His words. Amata is what He called me. Test. Experiment. The last experiment, best of all." She cast a frightened look at the still-confused Malcolm. He got up and put his arms around her, tentatively, as he would have hugged Madeleine when she was still little, and to his discomfort she threw her arms around him and held so tightly he feared for his ribs. 

"You are an experiment? What kind of experiment?" he asked as he eased the pressure of her arms just a little bit. 

"I do not know how to say it." She shuddered in his arms. "Malcolm! Friend! He was not friend. In before, there were other amatas. Experiments. Not last like me." Again she shuddered convulsively. 

"What happened? How did you get out into that little thing in space?" 

"He put us out in space. All amatas, out into space. To end." 

"Die," whispered Malcolm. "He put you out into space to die. He did something to you so you don't remember your language and put you out into space to die." 

"Never had language. He made amata." 

"Your father? Parent?" Malcolm couldn't remember if they'd explained the concept to her; there were no children on board, so he doubted the subject had come up. "Er...when two people get together and make another person." Brilliant explanation, genius. "Er...baby? Little version of us?" 

Amata shook her head violently. "No. Made amata...I do not know how to say it!" She pulled away from him and would not meet his eyes. "Made, made, made!" 

Malcolm sighed. Bloody cultural differences. For a moment they sat silently, him trying to figure out what she was trying to say, her trying to figure out how to say what she wanted, and neither succeeding. 

"What is this letter?" she asked finally, holding up the next card. 

Malcolm saw a giant red N dangling before his eyes, over a field of stars. "N for night, I suppose," he said. "The N is for exactly what it sounds like...ennnn." And with that they left the subject aside for the present, though Malcolm could not get the thought out of his head that N, rather than night, stood for 'not understanding.' 

He does not understand, she thinks, and though she racks her brain to try and formulate the words, they will not come. They dance about in her brain, just out of reach, taunting her. 

You do not know how to say it! 

She remembers the cold lifepod, remembers trying to speak and call for help. How silly she was, she thinks; you wouldn't have been able to do it anyway, even if your voice had worked and your mouth not frozen. 

It is her fault; he is smart, he will know if she can only tell him. It isn't that she doesn't remember; it is that she never knew. But she can't put the thought into words; she knows it in a deeper part of her mind, the part without words. 

The stars move by the window of her little room. It is hardly more than a closet, but Malcolm and Hoshi have named it hers. 

She looks at her cards and repeats the words that go with the letters. 

N for night, O for orange, P for Porthos. 

Q for questions. And answers are as far away as distant A, back at the beginning just like the answers to her own questions. Unreachable from the position of the middle Q, the beginning of the alphabet exists but is out of grasp. 

She must learn them, so she can tell him. Then maybe he will help her; within her mind she sees Him, and clenches her fists. She will learn so 

Stars outside, and darkness within. 

"She's a little skittish yet, I think," said Hoshi cheerfully, "and doesn't like to talk to anyone except Malcolm and me, but we feel she'll get used to Enterprise soon." 

"Anything coming back to her? Language? Memories?" asked Archer. 

Malcolm jumped skittishly; his chair scraped across the floor, and Archer swung his gaze to the lieutenant. "Malcolm? Has she said anything to you?" 

Reed, ears reddening, looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Er, as a matter of fact, I did have a rather interesting conversation with her earlier this afternoon...She wanted to tell me something, but she waited until Hoshi left. I'm not sure if she wants to trust anyone else with it." 

Both Archer and Hoshi looked suddenly intensely curious. Malcolm sighed. "But I suppose she really didn't get her point across anyway, so it doesn't matter." He explained to them their failure to understand each other. Archer leaned forward on his elbow, forehead wrinkling, when Reed mentioned that the mysterious 'he' had thrown her out into space to die. 

"The stopping block...she kept saying he 'made her'," said Malcolm. "Not like a parent...I've been thinking perhaps some sort of genetic manipulation or cloning, but of course she wouldn't know how to say that." 

Archer fell silent for a moment, his eyes blank, and Malcolm gazed at the captain. He knew his captain, as any good officer should, and could tell when the man knew something that he wasn't telling. The two officers shared a glance; Hoshi had picked up on the captain's expression as well, and, silently, they waited. 

The comm beeped. (Inwardly Archer sighed in relief, because he was not sure how to explain to the two what Amata was. He, of course, knew precisely what 'made' referred to, and had specifically chosen to keep it a secret between the doctor and himself. That was not bound to go over well.) 

"Archer here, what's up?" he asked, leaping out of the chair so quickly that Malcolm and Hoshi stared, astounded, now really wondering what the Captain wasn't telling them. 

"We are receiving a hail, Captain, from the Mdaran Interstellar Police," came T'Pol's clipped voice. "They wish to speak with you." 

"I'll be there right away," said the captain, and with a nod to his officers exited his ready room. 

A green, scaly face with eyes reminiscent of a cat's awaited them on the viewscreen. Reed nodded to Ensign Johnson, manning the armory station, and stood behind her, watching the Mdaran policeman intently. 

"Are you the leader of this vessel?" he (it? She? Reed couldn't tell) asked, tone quite a bit more polite than some of the species they had met out here. 

"Yes, I'm Captain Jonathon Archer," the captain replied. "What can I do for you?" 

The yellow, catlike eyes swept across the bridge; Malcolm caught the gaze for a moment and felt a twinge of dj vu. "I am Inspector Zhaan Rel Maidal of the Mdaran Interstellar Police. We have been pursuing a fugitive through this area of space recently, a Dr. Imran Yedel. Are you familiar with this area?" 

Archer shook his head no, realized they might not understand the motion, and reiterated, "No, we're from a planet called Earth a good distance away from here." 

"Ah, yes, indeed; I didn't think I'd ever seen your species before," said the inspector. "Yedel is a very dangerous criminal, captain. He's wanted for numerous charges of murder, abduction, and desecration of grave sites across this sector, as well as political bribery, terrorism, and embezzlement. Several governments have issued warrants for his arrests besides my own." 

"Can you give us a description?" asked Archer. "We'll be happy to provide you with any information we can, or help if you need it." 

"Thank you for the offer, Captain, but we do not wish to put you in danger. What Yedel does to the crews he kills..." The alien shuddered. "He is trying to make the ultimate killer, Captain. He cannibalizes parts from living beings as if they were machines, and throws out the remains of the bodies after he has mutilated them," said the inspector. "We would appreciate any information you can give us, and my communications officer is sending you descriptions and charts, but your ship couldn't stand up to Yedel's. His weaponry is far more advanced than your own; you would merely become victims of his latest experiments." 

Reed realized that his captain was looking at him, ready to stop any protest he might have about 'inferior weapons,' but he had not even registered the slight, too preoccupied with the inspector's earlier words. The captain, faint relief crossing his features, turned back to Inspector Maidal. 

"Thank you for the warning," said Archer cordially to the inspector. "Do we have the transmissions, Ensign?" Hoshi nodded. 

"I hope your explorations prove fruitful and interesting," said the inspector. "Please exercise caution, Captain." The viewscreen clicked off with a faint pop, and they were left staring at the stars. 

"Captain, I need to speak to you," said Reed immediately, his tone cold. "In private, if you would." 

He caught Hoshi's questioning glance, and mouthed, 'I'll explain later' to her as captain and lieutenant left the bridge. 

"Some sort of bloody Frankenstein!" Malcolm growled. "I could have understood her if he'd just bloody told us!" 

Hoshi, nearly running to keep up with his furious pace, panted, "Well, don't take out your anger on Amata! It's no wonder she couldn't tell you, she never knew how to speak in the first place!" 

"Her eyes!" cried Malcolm, stopping so abruptly that Hoshi slammed into him. "That's why the Mdarans seemed so familiar! They're eyes from a Mdaran corpse." 

"It's not her fault," said Hoshi again, harshly. "Now stop acting like a child and calm down!" 

"I'm not mad at her," explained Malcolm. "I'm angry that the captain would keep information about her, who we are teaching to speak and read and generally function as a living being, to himself! What if we'd, oh, I don't know, fed her something one of her parts was allergic to?" 

Hoshi couldn't help it; she burst out laughing and Malcolm, realizing how he sounded, joined her. "You sound just like my mother!" she said. "That's it, the mother hen urge!" 

"Don't ever call me that around Trip," Malcolm warned between gasps, and Hoshi just giggled harder. "Come on, then, papa hen, let's go tell our duckling that we've figured out what she was trying to tell us." 

"Hens don't have ducklings," said Hoshi incredulously as they came to Amata's little makeshift cabin. "They have chicks." 

They knocked on the door, still faintly chuckling. No answer. 

"Amata?" called Hoshi. "Are you awake?" 

Still no answer, and they glanced at each other, no longer laughing at all. Malcolm tapped the security override into the keypad, and the door hissed open to reveal...chaos. Little bits of flash cards were strewn around the room, floating up and down in the rush of air from the door. Amata sat huddled in the corner, clutching M for Malcolm and H for Hoshi, angry growls choking out of her shaking chest. 

"I do not know how to say it!" she cried in a huge voice. "I studied and studied, all about the ship and you and everything and I can't understand why you don't understand me!" Malcolm, cautiously, stepped forward; she launched herself from the floor at them, fists flying. Malcolm caught the full force of her swing and tumbled backwards onto Hoshi. Amata leapt over them and rushed into the hall. 

"Malcolm! Are you all right?" cried Hoshi, clumsily sliding out from under him. He shook his head and grimaced at the motion as a jolt of pain blared through his skull. 

"She's got quite a punch," he said, putting his hand to the already growing bump and feeling blood oozing between his fingers. "Security to deck two," he added, reaching up to the comm on the wall. Hoshi, on her feet already, hauled him up and they set off down the hall after the fleeing Amata, whose angry howls still reverberated through the corridors.


	4. CHAPTER 4--Discovery and Misunderstandings

CHAPTER 4--Discovery and Misunderstandings 

_"And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps? I resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated and despised, every country must be equally horrible."_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

Two crewmen, phase pistols in hand, watched nervously as Malcolm and Hoshi strode up to them. The lieutenant, hand on the ensign's shoulder, wavered off-balance slightly as he let go and glared at the decon room. 

"She locked herself in there," said one crewman; Malcolm suddenly noticed a third, sitting against the wall with a hand to her copiously bleeding and quite obviously broken nose. The one who had spoken also sported an angry lump growing on his cheek. "She used a security code! None of us even have clearance to use that level code!" 

"We left her in there, though, until you or the captain got here," said the third (uninjured) crewman. "There's no way out of decon except this door and the one into the shuttlebay, and the bay's depressurized right now because Ensign Mayweather and a team are out with one of the shuttles." 

"That's quite all right, Johnson, Yurich," said Reed absently. He went over to the keypad, the cover hanging ajar, and tapped in the master security override. The door hissed but did not open; Malcolm turned to Hoshi. 

"Get the doctor down here," he ordered. "I'm going to see if I can get her to calm down. I think she's just frightened now." 

"Are you sure, Lieutenant?" Hoshi asked, pointing to his forehead. Malcolm felt the sticky blood on his forehead. He didn't tell her that it was pounding unmercifully; he wouldn't, of course, because right now he had other things to worry about. 

"I'll be fine, Ensign," he replied and tapped in a command so the door would open slowly. He stood in front of it and slid in, blinking in the blue glow of decon as the door slid shut behind him. 

Where was Amata? "Amata," he called softly. The lights made it hard to see anything; even so, it was one room. There weren't that many places to hide. Suddenly he caught a glint of golden cat's eyes from under the low bench in the middle of the room, and immediately tumbled to the ground as the frightened woman leapt at him and caught him around the waist. 

He struggled wildly, and it took him a minute to realize that her onslaught was an embrace and not a killing swoop. Bloody killing machine, ha, he thought as she shook in his arms. She's as frightened as a kitten! 

"Amata? I understand now," he said. "I know what you mean...he made you, I know, the captain told me. It's all right, everything's fine." 

"I know how to tell you now," replied Amata, her face still hidden, and she held her hand to his cheek. "I can tell you in a different way, Malcolm." 

His mind tugged and he stood stockstill as images poured into his head. A ship, consoles...beings everywhere, dead alive screaming silent whole and pieces... Him at the forefront, a diminutive little man with a fuzzy shock of hair and burning golden eyes. Him him him him...cold and ice and darkness of space... Malcolm cried out as he felt the hate radiating from her mind and clenched his fists in pain. 

The touch receded, and Amata gasped. The lieutenant, coming back to himself, realized he had dropped to his knees and was pressed against the wall. "Did I hurt you?" wailed Amata. She rose above him, gasping in little wailing breaths. Malcolm shook his head and winced at the pain as she touched the blood on his forehead. She reared back above him, staring in shock with hands outstretched. 

"It's all right," he started to say, and at that precise moment the door hissed open all the way and a crisp red phase bolt burst into being from the tip of the gun clenched in the captain's hand. Amata toppled to the ground, unconscious. 

"Are you injured, Mr. Reed?" asked the doctor, just behind him. 

"That was a hell of a stupid thing to do, Malcolm," said the captain, holstering the phase pistol. "Take her to the brig." Johnson and Yurich scurried in, looking with concern at their still-kneeling superior, and began to drag the unconscious woman out of decon. 

"What were you thinking?" growled Archer. Reed slumped back onto the floor and let Phlox get at the cut on his forehead. 

"I was calming her down, sir," he protested, but the angry captain only shook his head. "She was upset, sir!" 

"I realize you have gotten attached to our visitor, Malcolm, but when she goes on an angry rampage through the ship you don't go it alone!" 

Reed bit back an angry retort... "She might not have, if I'd just understood her the first time..." and said instead, "I'm sorry, sir. I felt she would respond to a familiar face." 

"Did she do that to you?" asked Archer. 

"Yes, but--" 

"You heard what the Inspector said!" cried the captain. No doubt about it, he was really steamed. "Making machines of war!! Killing machines!! And you try to take on out on your own? I know you have a penchant for getting into sticky situations, Lieutenant, but this is ridiculous." 

"Sir!" bellowed Reed angrily. "She was frightened! I was trying to calm her down. I don't know what set her off in the first place, but she wasn't dangerous any longer. I'd nearly succeeded and you burst in and SHOT her without warning!!" Insubordination, you idiot, his brain warned, but Malcolm did not care. 

The captain, suddenly deadly calm, knelt next to the seething armoury officer and said, "When I opened that door, Lieutenant Reed, I saw a thing bred for killing with its hands outstretched over you, ready to deliver the last blow. And you, down on your knees, bleeding...What was I supposed to think, Malcolm?" 

Reed opened his mouth to protest again, but saw Hoshi shake her head warningly behind the captain. He shut his lips. The captain continued. "Three crew members injured! Ensign Carrell's nose is broken and she has a severe concussion, for goodness' sakes." 

Archer stood up and looked back and forth from Malcolm to Hoshi. "I will arrange to have the Mdaran police meet with us so we can give Amata to them. They have more experience dealing with these...creations...than we do." 

"But sir!" said Hoshi. 

"I mean it, Hoshi. I will not have a deadly killer aboard my ship! She will stay in the brig until we can contact the Mdarans and hand her over. Hoshi, I want you on the bridge, sending hails to any of their ships you can find. Now. Malcolm, do what the doctor tells you to and then you are confined to quarters for a day for insubordination." He stormed out of decon. Hoshi threw a sympathetic glance at Malcolm and meekly followed the angry captain. Phlox, who had remained remarkably silent throughout the entire exchange, taped a bandage in place over Malcolm's forehead. 

"Perhaps she is better off this way," he said. "You would have had to let go at some point, Lieutenant." 

"He didn't even let me try to explain," said Malcolm softly. 

"I know. He was only concerned for your well-being, Lieutenant, and I must say it did look," -at Malcolm's glare he hastily amended himself- "it did look, from our perspective, as though she were attacking you, whether or not that was actually the case." 

Malcolm shook his head, glaring at himself. "It most certainly was not the case," he said angrily, and stood up. 

The doctor just looked at him, and then sighed. "Try to get some rest, Mr. Reed," he said wearily. "I will make it a medical order for you to visit your charge...after a suitable time has passed, Lieutenant. Go back to your quarters. I'll go check on Amata." 

"Can you tell me how she is?" asked Malcolm. Dr. Phlox stood and patted the lieutenant on the shoulder. 

"Of course," said Phlox with a smile. "Now go to your quarters!" 

Something has broken loose within her; she can feel it growing in her mind...no, it is not merely in her mind; it is her mind. Something expands and reaches out to the myriad of thoughts across this little hollow bug scooting through space, and all of them jumbled mixed up clumped together flicker in and out of her mind. 

No pecan pie tonight, aw rats... Hey you, that was my seat... Time to run another course check... Yeah, he is kinda cute... One two three four, breathe, breathe, damn this treadmill!... Cheese? No cheese for you! 

She touches briefly every mind on the ship. Here is Hoshi, here is the pilot, the captain, the doctor (back in his sickbay after checking to make sure she is all right), the cook; she even dares to peek into the Vulcan science officer's mind, and on the bridge T'Pol stiffens and jerks upwards. 

"Subcommander?" asks Hoshi; Amata hears it through the ears of the young woman and sees it through her eyes. "Are you all right?" 

T'Pol does not answer; she reaches out on her own, questing, and Amata feels the warning, Do not come in here again, even if T'Pol does not consciously form the thought. 

"T'Pol?" asks Hoshi again. 

"I am fine, Ensign," says T'Pol abruptly and returns to her work with the same cold demeanor as always, though inside she is far from all right. 

She leaves Hoshi's mind and bounces along the hallways. Even from far away she can feel his anger; it frightens her, because it is much like His. 

At length she finds Malcolm's thoughts, turbulent and restless even though he is asleep; in his mind a little scene plays out, and she does not know the word for it until she picks it out from his mind. Dream. How curious; she knows she does not experience dreams. 

In his dream he sits in a dark room, frightened and small, only a little child once more. Again she thinks how curious; she knows that this was once her friend though he looks different now. Amata feels a twinge of regret for herself; she has always been as she is now, her whole short life. 

Malcolm sees her, looks up, smiles; he is hardly as serious as a child as he is now. Dancing blue eyes capture her attention; her friend is quite loveable, and Amata smiles back. 

He beckons and out of the room they run. Malcolm cannot keep pace with her; though Amata has never been on a planet, she suspects that she would be able to run for great distances without getting tired, and quickly too. From another part of his mind she picks out the word moor and likes the sound of it. 

Much as she would like to participate longer in her friend's dream, it is not this which she has come for. Waving goodbye, she rushes away from the cavorting child. 

In part of his memory, she finds specifications for the ship's security measures...phase pistols, torpedos, phase cannons... and aha, here, the brig. He knows every little nook and cranny of his beloved systems, every little strength... and every weakness. 

Amata opens her eyes, leaving Malcolm's mind, and inspects the walls around her. There. In the corner. One tiny little panel. 

The security guard is nodding off, not paying attention, as Amata begins to open it up. He does not notice when she rips out the wires. 

But he does look up when the door to her cell slides open... 

By then it is too late. 

"We're receiving a hail, Captain," said Hoshi softly from her station. "It's from a Mdaran ship nearby." 

"Put them through," growled the captain. He'd stayed angry for the last four hours, ever since Amata's incident. Everyone on the bridge, except perhaps T'Pol, tiptoed around and only spoke when necessary. 

"You are Captain Archer?" said the Mdaran gruffly as his image flickered onto the screen. "You have captured one of his war machines?" 

"Yes, I am," replied the captain. "And we have." 

The Mdaran cast an angry look off to the side and barked something in an unintelligible language. 

"How is he overriding the UT?" Archer asked Hoshi from the corner of his mouth. She shook her head. 

"He isn't. We never had to use the translator at all. They just did it themselves," she said. 

"Captain!" said the Mdaran harshly. "We have detected the fugitive's ship only a short distance from your position. Please follow our directions and conceal yourself until we are certain the threat is contained. We will come for you at the following coordinates." 

"We've received them, Captain," said T'Pol. "It appears to be a small moon approximately two lightyears from here." She consulted the readout on her screen. "We are to stay in the moon's shadow at all times." 

Hoshi could tell that Archer was less than pleased about this. So could the Mdaran, apparently; he said curtly, "Please do not try to seek out the fugitive, Captain. I assure you, he has much more dangerous weapons than you, and your ship would instantly be destroyed. Go to the moon or you will be arrested as well." 

Archer's jaw worked and he swallowed angrily. "We'll be waiting for your hail," he said finally. 

"Please keep the creation under constant guard, Captain," said the Mdaran. "They are very dangerous." The screen went blank. 

"Let's get underway, then," said Archer. He sat back down in his chair and did not say a word for the rest of the duty shift. By the time Hoshi was relieved by the third shift comm officer, she thought her head would burst from the silence. Archer did not even move when she said good night to him; his profile as he stared straight ahead was the last thing she saw before the lift doors closed. 

She passed Malcolm's quarters on the way back to her own, and on an impulse knocked on the door. "Lieutenant, it's Hoshi," she called softly. "Are you all right?" 

No answer; then, all of a sudden, the door whizzed open. A hand snatched the collar of her uniform and yanked her in. She caught a glimpse of Malcolm, stretched out pale and unconscious on the bed, before the hand swung her around and she found herself staring into a pair of golden cat's eyes. Another hand clamped over her mouth just before she was about to scream. 

"Not a word," said Amata. 

Behind them, the door hissed shut.


	5. CHAPTER 5--Unhinged

CHAPTER 5--Unhinged 

_"Frightful must it be, for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavor to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world."_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

"Not a word," said Amata. Hoshi's eyes whirled around in panic, and her chest heaved, threatening to hyperventilate. The words killing machine kept echoing in her head in a voice very like that of Captain Archer's. "Can you stay quiet?" 

Hoshi nodded and Amata took her hand away from the ensign's mouth. "You're speaking much better," Hoshi said and cringed at how utterly stupid she sounded. Talk down to someone who's got you cornered, why don't you, she thought. 

"I know the words now," said Amata, looking at her quizzically. "I can take them right from your mind. I don't need to learn any more." 

Hoshi shook her head. She cast a quick look at Malcolm; his chest was rising and falling slowly, as if he were asleep. 

"Yes, he is asleep," said Amata. "The doctor gave him medicine to make him sleep." 

"Then what are you doing here?" asked Hoshi. She ignored the fact that Amata was plucking thoughts right out of her head as easily as a human would pick a flower from its stem. 

"He is very close by," said Amata. She let go of Hoshi and motioned to Malcolm's chair. "I have to go and find Him." "You mean the doctor whatshisname that created you?" 

"Yes. You are my friends. You will help me." 

"But--" All of a sudden Hoshi's mind went completely blank except for an overwhelming urge to curl and go to sleep. She blinked at Amata and tried to protest, but it was too late. Amata, face determined, put the lieutenant over one strong shoulder and the ensign over the other, and set off in the direction of the shuttlebay. 

A groan issued from Malcolm's lips as his eyes fluttered open. Everything seemed a little too bright for his quarters; even the bed beneath him felt much too hard. It took him a moment to realize that he was not in a bed at all, and a moment more to figure out that he was in a shuttlepod, with Hoshi laying beside him. 

It also took him a moment to figure out that his hands were tied behind his back. 

Someone sat in the pilot's chair, tapping at the keys. 

"Hello?" he asked, his voice coming out like raspy sandpaper. His head ached; something was keeping up a persistant, annoying tickle right over his eyebrows. 

"Go back to sleep, Malcolm," said a voice, tinged with a slight accent. 

"Amata?" He tried to sit up and failed. The tickle increased, and the computer said flatly, Autopilot engaged. 

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked softly. 

What the hell is going on? "Amata, what are you doing?" 

"I know what I need to do," she said. "What the hell is going on is that I must go and find Him. He is close by; I can feel him. You are my friends. I need your help. But I could not risk that you would try to stop me." 

"What?" Did she just read my mind? Amata's eyes blinked sadly as she tipped a bottle of water to his lips. "In the last few days, Malcolm, I have come alive." Carefully she wiped a trickle from his chin. "I was little more than a baby when you found me. I did not know how to speak or do anything for myself. But I was never a child." 

"I know. He put you together and did nothing to help you." 

"But I remember everything. And you and Hoshi gave me the tools to understand it." Her fists clenched. "I could not explain anything to you. And it frustrated me. Something inside me spilled open and I could see all the words inside the people on the ship." Her voice took on a pleading tone. "I gained words from their minds." 

"You are telepathic." 

"Is that what it is called? It scared me. Malcolm, you came in and I could see all of you and you were angry inside. Outside you laughed but inside you hated that you did not know me." 

"No, Amata, no. I was angry at the Captain because he knew what you were. And he didn't tell me. I was not angry at you, not at all." 

"You came too close and I could see everything. I was frightened and frustrated. So I ran away. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. They just kept coming at me." 

He saw her fists clench, though, and wondered if that was true. She caught his eye, and he knew that she had heard the thought. Her face hardened. "Now you do not trust me." 

He didn't even have to respond to that; she bared her teeth at him and pushed him away. "Malcolm!" 

"Why are we out here, Amata?" he asked. 

"We are out here because I know what He did to us. I remember everything, Malcolm, I remember that I was the last one. I remember that he knew he was being chased. I remember that he let us go even though we were his creations. And I know that all of the others like me are dead." Malcolm, shocked at the change in her face, carefully shifted to get in front of Hoshi. He didn't know how much good he would do if Amata became dangerous in the small shuttle, though. 

She knew exactly what he was doing. Amata's face crumpled. 

"What do you need revenge for?" asked Malcolm, quietly. 

"He made me suffer. I want to make him suffer. He made me! He is my father! He should have taken care of me." The unspoken implication: I wasn't good enough for him. He didn't want me. 

"We all want that from our fathers," Malcolm replied, and his sympathy was real this time. He went on in a quiet voice, knowing that she could feel his thoughts as well, and hoped she understood. "A father is someone who should be proud of his creations... his children... But you can get past that." Stuart Reed's face came to mind, eternally disappointed, and he cringed. "It isn't easy, but you can get past it." 

"He was afraid," she said. "He was afraid that someone would catch him." She stared outside at the stars. "Why wouldn't they want him to have us?" 

War machines, thought Malcolm's mind. But the increasingly familiar tickle had stopped, and Amata did not react to the phrase. Could it be that she didn't know? She didn't know what the fugitive doctor had really been doing? 

"How on earth did you miss that?" Malcolm muttered. Amata turned and gave him a quizzical look, but she did not pry. 

"I will go and tell him that I survived, then," said Amata harshly. "In spite of him. I will ask him to make the others again. And then we will leave and go into space alone, where he cannot hurt us and no one will find us and be afraid like your captain. You will help me. And you will come with me, because you are my friends." 

T'Pol would have a field day pointing out the holes in that logic, Malcolm thought. Amata's eyes fixed themselves on him. 

"The Vulcan would agree with me. It is very logical." And with that, the world went black again. The last sight Malcolm saw before slipping into darkness was Amata sitting back down in the pilot's chair, utterly determined to enact her vengeance on the man who had deserted her. 

The planet draws closer, filling the viewscreen just as Enterprise did a few days ago, when she was still in her little escape pod. She can feel Him in its shadow; she has been able to feel his presence since they left. 

Enterprise does not know they are flying right into his clutches. Of course, the ship and its crew are unfamiliar beings to him, but He would find a way to use them. She did the right thing, stopping their engines so she could escape. 

Perhaps if I go back and show him that I was strong enough to survive... Perhaps he will tell me that I am the best of his creations, the only one who could resist the cold. Maybe he cast us out to test us, not because he did not care for us... 

The stars twinkle in the void, peeking out from around the planet's edges. There is no sign of his ship visible to human eyes. 

Amata is not human, though; she does not need her eyes to find him. She directs the little ship toward the planet's surface, homing in on an innocent rock, a natural satellite too small to really be called a moon. 

There he is. 

And there is where she goes.


	6. CHAPTER 6--Creators in Even Stranger Places

CHAPTER 6--Creators in Even Stranger Places 

_"I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects. This being you must create."_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

Shambles. Everything was a complete mess, all the way from Malcolm's quarters to the shuttlebay. 

"Damn it!" swore the captain as he tripped over yet another wall panel. Subcommander T'Pol caught him before he crashed into the exposed circuitry. 

"How on earth could one woman do this much damage! And kidnap two officers, both of whom were bigger than her! And knock out every person that got in her way, to boot!" railed the captain. T'Pol shook her head. 

"As you said, she is genetically composed to be strong and fast," replied the Vulcan. "What else is a war machine expected to do?" 

Archer just looked at her. "Subcommander, sometimes I'm not asking questions, just venting." 

T'Pol raised one eyebrow. "Of course, Captain." She looked down the hall to the shuttlebay. "I believe that I may know how she managed to render eight crew members unconscious. While I was on the bridge yesterday, I felt the touch of an unfamiliar presence in my mind. I did not know, at the time, where the phenomenon had originated from." 

Archer waited patiently as T'Pol picked her way over a bundle of power couplings. 

"I believe, sir, that this alien has some telepathic ability. A race called the Betazoids can implant telepathic suggestions into the minds of nontelepaths. Perhaps she can do the same." 

"Do you think that Malcolm and Hoshi went with her willingly, then?" asked Tucker, coming up the hall towards them. He handed Archer a padd and wiped his forehead. "Captain, there's a whole lotta damage. This is a full list of it, plus there might be some stuff that we haven't found yet." 

"Do you mean that she may have telepathically coerced them so they went quietly?" asked Archer, wincing as he skimmed through the list. 

"Yeah," said Tucker. "We nearly got the warp engines back online, though, sir. She only disrupted a few of the power couplings. Real easy to fix, just time-consuming." 

"I would not discard the option that they went without being coerced," said T'Pol slowly. "Both of them seemed very protective of her. I believe Mr. Reed referred to her as his friend on one occasion." 

Trip and Archer both glared at her. "No way, T'Pol," cried Trip. "No way. Malcolm and Hoshi may be friends but they wouldn't destroy the ship for someone they only met a few days ago!" 

"I have to agree with Trip," said Archer. "I'll keep it in mind, but I really don't think that's a possibility. I've contacted the Mdarans again, and they're sending a ship after the shuttle. They think she's probably going to try and get back to her maker." 

"And we're going to sit here and wait, right?" said Trip glumly. "Like last time?" 

Archer smiled. "They didn't say anything about waiting for them." 

"Captain, I feel I must point out--" T'Pol began, but Trip cut her off. 

"Aw, come on, T'Pol, we can take him!" he said. Archer sighed and stopped listening right there. 

"It is illogical to debate the point," T'Pol snapped (as much a Vulcan ever snaps) back at him. She took the padd from Archer's hand and pointed to the very first item. "We do not even have impulse power to the engines at the present moment." 

Archer wandered away from his arguing officers and sighed. He headed back towards the bridge, where it was (thankfully) much calmer and a good deal less destroyed. 

"Any news, sir?" asked Ensign Mayweather as Archer stepped off the lift. He shook his head and went into his ready room, hoping desperately that his officers were not in danger. Something about killing machine kept echoing in his mind, and also, something about the Mdaran captain's grim expression as he had delivered his parting words. 

"We will shoot to kill, Captain Archer. On that you have our word." 

"Will you help me?" 

Malcolm blinked; his eyes watered from the sudden onslaught of light. He heard Hoshi groan nearby. 

"Help you?" 

"Will you help me find him?" Amata swung the flashlight away. "I need your help, Malcolm and Hoshi. I cannot go alone." 

He shifted around and realized his hands were no longer tied. Hoshi groaned again and sat up. "Where are we?" she whispered. 

Malcolm shrugged, still lying on the floor. 

"We are docked with His ship," Amata said calmly. "In his stealth mode he has limited sensors and blind areas. We are in one of them." 

"How do you know that?" cried Hoshi. She jumped up and looked out the window. "What happened?" 

"She's going to kill him," said Malcolm quietly. He had a pounding headache and the tickle of Amata's mental touch wasn't helping. 

"I want my revenge," said Amata quietly. "I am very very angry at what he has done to me and my brothers and sisters." 

Hoshi just stared. "You couldn't even talk three days ago. And now you're enacting revenge on your creator?" Her voice reached a fever pitch and her face went pale. Malcolm suddenly recognized the panic signs. He jumped up from the floor, grunting as his head twanged, and put his arms around Hoshi. 

"Amata, you don't need to do this. I will not help you do this, do you hear me? Argh!" Something popped in his skull and he fell to his knees, clutching his head. He could feel her anger... 

"Malcolm!" cried Amata and Hoshi together. The mental itch lessened as both women knelt next to him in concern, and the pain eased a little. 

"Maybe...maybe you should stop reading my mind," he said weakly. The tickle stopped and he breathed easier. 

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," said Amata. "You are my friend. And you have many dreams. I could not resist." 

"What are you going to do, Amata?" asked Hoshi, some of the color returning to her face. Malcolm gaped and wondered what exactly she had seen in his dreams. 

"I am going to go on the ship. He will welcome me, he will realize that I am the strongest, and he will make more people like me. And then I will take him and kill him so he cannot hurt us and we will go away and live happily where no one can ever find us." 

"You have us," said Malcolm. "What do you need him to make others for? We are your friends." 

"You are. But the rest of Enterprise is afraid. They all knew after...after I attacked you, and they were afraid. I cannot go there." She spat bitterly at the shuttle bulkhead. 

"They are surprisingly willing to forgive," said Malcolm quietly. "Humans used to be very predjudiced. They used to hate others because they were different. But no one on Enterprise is like that." 

"How can you tell me that?" cried Amata. "I saw it in your dreams! Your father hated you! You should agree with me!" 

Malcolm winced as the pain in his head suddenly redoubled, and he saw his own memories played before his eyes. He heard Hoshi cry out as Stuart Reed's disapproving face danced before his eyes, and realized in shame that she saw everything. "I will not have a coward or a sissy for a son, Malcolm. Now do as you're told and stop dreaming about spaceships. No wonder you aren't top of your class like a Reed should be. You're too busy with your head in the bloody clouds!" He felt the door slam, even though it was only in his head. 

"I learned to deal with that," hissed Malcolm. "I found other friends. Now, I'll go along with you to talk to this doctor. But you must understand that for every one of your new siblings someone else had to die and be ripped to component parts. And you must understand that you cannot simply kill someone to get rid of the pain." 

To his great surprise, Amata nodded. "I understand. You are my friends. I will listen to you." 

Tears trickled down Hoshi's cheeks. "Here's what we'll do, Amata. We'll get away from this ship and contact the Mdarans. They'll come and get him. And he'll be punished. We'll tell them your story. You're not a killing machine, you're not." 

Amata's face twitched. "I want to talk to him. You contact the Mdarans. Malcolm, come with me. We will need to find him." She lifted him to his feet as easily as if he were a doll. The airlock hissed open above them, and Amata climbed up first. 

"Are you sure you want to go?" whispered Hoshi. 

"Killing machine," murmured Malcolm, eyes dark in his pale face. "Contact the Mdarans." Then he disappeared up the ladder after her, leaving Hoshi alone in the silent shuttlepod. 

She weaves her way through halls and corridors, up steps and down ladders, past glowing green conduits and chirping computer panels. She feels both Malcolm and Him, both at the same time. One hurts, one schemes. 

She schemes, too. She plans and plots. Malcolm is not her friend. He thinks she will kill them all. She saw that in his mind, too. He is like her, cast out by his father into a sea of stars. He was not good enough. She is not good enough. 

"Hello, Doctor," she says, striding into the last room. Malcolm follows warily, sees the little man sitting at his desk. 

"One of you survived?" he says incredulously, and looks her up and down. "You! The last experiment, and the strongest, indeed. I am very glad to see you!" He is proud, she can feel it. He loves her! 

"I have returned," she replies. "I knew you were testing us, Father. I have survived for you!" 

"Yes, you have," he says warmly. He looks at Malcolm and though she does not see it, the human does; cold, calculating, ice in his eyes and in his heart. She does not feel the treachery, the greed in him; Malcolm's mind warns her, but she refuses to take any advice from her so-called friend. Her heart is full of his pride in her, and she sees nothing else. 

He says, "We will make you many brothers and sisters, my dear. You are the best, and they will all be just like you." 

She runs to him and wraps her arms around him like Malcolm to Hoshi. And again, though she feels only warmth from her creator's mind, Malcolm sees his expression and fears for them both.


	7. CHAPTER 7--Endings

CHAPTER 7--Endings 

_"*[N]ow that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy?*"_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

The ship sparkled; it was, Malcolm mused, obviously a very new and well-made machine. He'd never seen such technology, and if the situation had been different, he would have loved to run all over the ship just poking around the various types of weaponry. 

The doctor, however, had other plans. He led them out of his laboratory and up into the bridge of the ship. Malcolm wondered what had possessed him to leave Hoshi alone in the shuttlepod. He hoped she could contact the Mdaran police. 

At first, he'd tried to stop thinking about anything threatening, knowing perfectly well that Amata could hear every thought. But he'd given up after only a few minutes; the tickle of her mental touch had not invaded his mind at all, and he assumed she'd either gotten better or stopped. 

He glanced back and forth between the doctor and Amata, the latter eagerly talking and the former nodding with a broad smile. As the doctor showed her various things on the bridge, Malcolm watched nervously, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. 

Amata possessed the power to kill the doctor; of that he was absolutely certain. He had aquiesced to coming with her because he feared she would go back on her word and try to enact her revenge. 

There probably wasn't much he could do to stop her, he though ruefully, but that hadn't occured to him in the shuttle. 

Now, though, looking at the doctor (what was his name? Imran something? Malcolm couldn't remember) he feared more for Amata. He'd seen that look only a few times in his life. 

Apparently greed was not limited to humans. 

"And here, my dear, is our translator," said the doctor, gesturing to a panel lit with red and yellow symbols. "This is how we can speak to one another, because your language and mine are not the same." 

"Yes," said Amata. "Enterprise has a translator, too. My friend Hoshi uses it. She and Malcolm taught me to speak." 

"Wonderful, my dear, wonderful!" said the doctor. His voice, sickeningly sweet and affectionate, nearly made Malcolm gag. "And what does your friend Malcolm do on Enterprise?" 

"He is in charge of the weapons," said Amata. "He makes things blow up." 

"Ah, yes, weapons do make lovely explosions, don't they?" The doctor glanced at a panel, and for a moment his face hardened. "Why don't you go and get your other friend, Amata? The one on your little shuttle? I'd like to meet all your new friends." He smiled once more at Amata. 

Oh, bloody hell, no, don't do it, thought Malcolm vehemently. Amata did not even glance at him. She simply smiled and ran eagerly throgh the doors, leaving Malcolm alone with the doctor before the lieutenant could make a move to follow her. 

The doors hissed shut just as Malcolm reached them. "My dear Malcolm, I'd like to talk to you," said the doctor, and his voice held none of its former sweetness. 

"What are you planning for her?" said Malcolm. Why bother with pleasantries? He'll probably kill you anyway. 

"She is very valuable to me," replied the doctor. "Strong, fast, intelligent, able to sense the thoughts and therefore the actions of her enemy before they can do a thing. A supersoldier, my good Malcolm, one able to defeat any foe. Imagine what an army of her kind could do. Imagine what people would pay for an army like that." He tapped at the controls on the panel in front of him. "She will be tested once your little Mdaran friends come to get you. She'll demolish their ships singlehandly from the inside." 

Malcolm's jaw clenched. "She wouldn't kill for you." 

"Wouldn't she?" said the doctor. "I made her. She'll do anything for me. She is totally under my control." 

"Really? Why do you have to use that syrupy kindness then?" Malcolm could not feel the seal in the door to pry it open. He moved away, eyes sweeping the room for another escape route. "She was ready to kill you when we docked with your ship. I talked her out of it." 

The doctor smiled once more. "You will regret that in a moment. Tell me something, Malcolm. She has obviously searched your mind many times. How did she fail to hear your warnings?" He turned away, still smiling, and Malcolm slid towards a door he spotted in the opposite wall. 

Without warning, pain swept through Malcolm's skull, ten times worse than anything Amata had inflicted. He crashed to the floor, all senses deserting him, clenching his fists so hard that his nails cut into his palms. 

On the floor of the shiny new ship, blood sparkled, and the doctor nodded in satisfaction. 

She runs through the halls of the pretty sparkling ship, running her hands over the smooth glass and the glittering lights as she passes them. So much prettier than the grey halls of Enterprise. 

Here is the airlock; she knocks on the door before opening it. Hoshi looks up at her, worried, as she climbs down the ladder. 

"Where's Malcolm, Amata?" 

Amata feels fear from her friend, and it reminds her why she no longer calls either of them friend. They think she will hurt them. Her creator does not think that. 

"He stayed with the doctor. I think they will be friends." 

Hoshi does not look convinced. "I contacted the Mdarans. They will be here in fifteen minutes to apprehend him, Amata. We need to get Malcolm off the ship and get away. They didn't seem too happy with your creator." 

So wrong, Amata thinks. He loved his children. He wanted them to be strong, so he tested them. What do they think a good man like that has done? 

"Why?" Amata asks. In Hoshi's mind she sees visions of dead people, all different kinds of dead people, laid out on tables and cut into pieces. 

"He killed people to make you," says Hoshi, and she looks like she will cry. "That's why they're angry. It's not your fault. We'll tell them, but we must get Malcolm out of there. He's a dangerous man, Amata!" 

"No he isn't," Amata tells her. "Come with me." 

Hoshi glances around at the shuttle. "Where are we going?" she asks as they climb the ladder. 

"To Malcolm," replies Amata. She is angry because Hoshi is scared, scared of Amata. They reach the bridge, shiny rose and silver doors, and go in. Only the doctor remains. "Where is Malcolm?" asks Amata. 

"I've taken him to somewhere safe. There are enemies coming," he replies, not looking up from his screens. "It will be very dangerous. I'll take your friend Hoshi there in a moment so she can be safe too." 

Hoshi looks around fearfully. "Don't worry," says Amata. 

For a moment Amata realizes that she cannot feel Hoshi's mind. But the doctor starts to speak again, and she is distracted. 

"I need you to go to the transporter room, Amata. Once the ship comes, I will transport you onto the ship," he says. Amata feels a twinge of fear. "Don't worry; they cannot hurt you. But they will try, and they will try to hurt me, and your friends Malcolm and Hoshi." 

"Malcolm and Hoshi are not my friends," Amata says defiantly. "They are afraid of me." Hoshi, next to her, draws in a strangled sob. "I want to stay with you." 

The doctor shakes his head sadly. "They aren't afraid of you," he says. "They are afraid for you, because you are special. They worry about you, that's all. I know you can feel fear from them, but you are misinterpreting it, my darling!" 

"Is that true?" Amata asks Hoshi, who nods. 

"We don't want anything to happen to you, Amata," says Hoshi, and tears slip from her eyes. Amata still cannot feel her thoughts. But she feels the doctor's, her creator's, and knows that Hoshi is telling the truth. 

"Go and do what you can to weaken their ship. Do it just like you did when you left Enterprise," says the doctor. "I need your help. Protect me and your friends." He looks at the panel again. "Go now, my dear. We have only a few minutes." 

Amata nods and leaves the room. She must protect her friends. They really are her friends. And her creator! She is happy; she has a purpose. Soon he will make others like her, and she will have brothers and sisters. 

But before she has gotten ten meters down the corridor, she hears a scream and an angry shout, and turns back, running quickly back to the control room. 

Hoshi leans, pale-faced, against the doorframe. Blood pours from her nose, and she gingerly touches her forehead. Amata gasps and immediately helps her friend up. 

"Get away from her!" booms the doctor, and all trace of kindness is gone from his voice. Wisps of smoke rise from a hole in his formerly clean lab coat, and he clutches at his shoulder as . "Go to the transporter room, Amata!" 

Amata stares at him, aghast. She can feel pain from both of them; Hoshi trembles, and in the ensign's mind Amata feels the doctor invade and try to rip and tear and kill. She sees a phase pistol in Hoshi's hand; she had not noticed it before. The ensign had fired before he could get all the way in. 

"Where is Malcolm?" cries Amata to the doctor. Liar, liar! Treacherous scum! With the pain he has let his guard down and now she sees everything. He doesn't care for her at all. She was right. She should have killed him when she had the chance. 

"Where is he?" she screams. With a bound she is across the room and at his throat, and though his mind is powerful his body is not, and he crumples beneath her grip. 

She finds the image of Malcolm in his mind, tearing through his thoughts with as much roughness as she can muster, and, throwing the doctor over her shoulder, walks quickly toward the door. He shouts in protest and pain but she ignores him. 

"The Mdarans will be here soon," she tells Hoshi. The young woman, pinching her nose, trying to make it stop bleeding, nods. "Tell them we are in the laboratory." 

"Here," says Hoshi, and hands her the phase pistol. "It's still on stun. You might need it." 

Amata takes it and smiles; Hoshi returns it weakly, and now Amata can feel that though Hoshi is frightened, she is also concerned for both Malcolm and Amata. Hoshi's friends. 

They reach the laboratory, and Amata sets the doctor down, who collapses in a heap on the floor. She sees Malcolm, prone and pale on one of the dissection tables. For a moment, she fears that he is dead, and reaches out a hand in defeat. Amata makes a last-ditch attempt; she touches the still mind and feels nothing. She closes her eyes and digs. 

She finds nothing. 

But suddenly, deep inside him, she sees his dream. Malcolm-the-child runs over the grass of his homeworld, laughing in delight at the lovely colors of the sun setting over the English moors. 

"Come with me, Malcolm!" cries Amata, running after him. He must not go into the sunset! Her heart breaks as he keeps running, and she calls again and again. For all her speed in the real world, she cannot keep up with him in his own world. 

He is nearly out of sight when he finally turns, cartwheeling over the grass. "Come on, Malcolm. Wake up, my friend!" He reaches her, takes her hand, smiling with joy as only a child can smile. 

"Amata?" 

She hears his voice in the real world, and slowly opens her eyes. 

A second becomes an eternity as she gazes, eternally relieved and happy, into his wondering face. 

Then searing pain erupts across her shoulders, and everything goes black.


	8. CHAPTER 8--Beginnings

CHAPTER 8--Beginnings 

_"Excellent friend! How sincerely did you love me and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own!"_ ~Mary Shelley, Frankenstein 

The worst part, Malcolm reflected, was seeing the damned doctor led off in restraints, and Amata wheeled off in a bodybag. 

The good die young, and the wicked live on, he thought to himself, staring at the ceiling. The Mdarans had swooped into the laboratory just as he'd opened his eyes and wondered why he wasn't dead. Then Amata had slumped onto him, blocking his vision. He couldn't make his arms work. He had just lain there until the Mdaran police lifted her lifeless body away. 

They'd lifted him up, his momentarily useless arms and legs flopping around, and he saw the doctor, still alive and angry. Wounded, but not mortally. After that, mostly everything was a blur of hallways, pain, and medical instruments until he'd finally fallen asleep in the Mdaran medical bay. 

He looked over at the next bed. Hoshi's dark eyes met his own; neither had realized the other was awake. 

"I tried to tell them, Malcolm," she said, and tears threatened to spill over. 

"I know," he replied. His head still hurt. 

"It's just like Captain Archer," she said, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "They just assumed the worst and didn't bother to find out that she wasn't doing anything wrong." 

"She saved my life." 

"I know," Hoshi said. "Dr. Yedel told them everything right as they brought us back here. I was right behind him and I heard it all." 

"Wish I'd thought to bring a phase pistol," he said. One of the doctors had relayed Hoshi's story before Malcolm had gone to sleep. 

"He said... he said your mind was easier to get into because she'd been looking into your head so much... you might not have had any time to do anything," said Hoshi. 

"I still would have tried." 

They fell silent for a while, until the door swooshed open and the Mdaran medic entered. Malcolm inwardly sighed. More prodding and poking. He had to admit, though, that he wouldn't mind something for his headache. 

"Hello, Lieutenant, Ensign!" chirped a cheerful voice. Malcolm bolted upright from his bed and groaned, clutching his still-aching head. 

"Dr. Phlox!" said Hoshi. The Denobulan's face curved in his familiar too-large smile as he began to unpack his medical bag. 

"How are you two feeling?" said another familiar voice from behind the doctor. "We were pretty worried." 

"Captain Archer!" Malcolm exclaimed. "I can explain!" 

"Explain what? It's not your fault you ended up here." 

"Er... I expected...taking unnecessary risks..." 

Archer's eyes twinkled. "So I was angry at you for taking risks before. I'm just glad to have my Armoury officer and my Translator back." 

"Thank you, sir," said Malcolm. The Mdaran medic, who'd entered after Archer, came to Phlox's side. 

"We've cleared them to leave," he said, yellow eyes sweeping over the two patients. "I can get a chair for Lieutenant Reed. I doubt he's strong enough to walk yet." 

Malcolm groaned. "Sir, I'm perfectly all right." He sat up, carefully swung himself out of bed, and promptly lost his balance, tipping forward over Phlox's medical bag. Archer, hiding a smile, caught the lieutenant before he hit the ground. 

"I think he'll be all right with a little bit of help," said Archer. 

With Malcolm leaning on the captain's shoulder, they walked towards the door and out into the hallway. "How are you holding up?" asked Archer asked him as they slowly made their way toward the docking port. 

"Other than this, I'm fine," said Malcolm. He kept his eyes on the ground. 

"Come on, Malcolm. I saw how angry you were when I stunned her." 

"Captain," said Malcolm desperately, "I really don't want to talk about it." 

The captain regarded him solemnly for a moment as they waited for the airlock to open. "If you ever do, Malcolm," he said, "just remember that you have friends who are very willing to listen." 

"Aye, sir." Malcolm knew as well as the captain how unlikely it was that he would take up that suggestion, and they walked into Enterprise in silence. 

He ran over the heath, a child again with blue eyes and black curls, skipping and yelling in the twilight. Where were his friends and his sister? He didn't see them anywhere. 

"Maddie!" he shouted; Mum would be quite angry if he lost his little sister out here. "Hoshi? Trip?" 

Someone came running over the grass, giggling. A little girl, but not his sister; bright yellow cat's eyes regarded him solemnly in the dim light. "How are you today, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed?" she asked him, with a faint accent. 

"You're not supposed to be here!" he said, stepping backwards. 

"Of course I am. I'm the last, and the strongest," she replied, and danced around him. "I can run so fast, Malcolm!" She gazed up at him with those eerie yellow eyes. "You ran faster. I almost lost my friend because I couldn't catch you, before." 

"I'm sorry." He blinked at her. "You look different." 

She smiled, and for the first time he did not find the alien face grotesque; rather, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "I have to go now, Malcolm, friend. I just wanted to say thank you." 

"For what? You saved my life." 

"You saved mine first." She giggled. "Goodbye, my friend. You don't have to be angry, you know. You have more friends besides me. Don't let them go, either. They can help you. Like you helped me." And she ran away from him, off across the moor, so quickly that Malcolm could not catch her. 

"Amata!" he cried, and suddenly clawed the blankets from his face, sitting up in a rush. Sickbay was quiet, except for the faint rustle of one of Phlox's animals. 

Hoshi, in the next bed, turned over and looked at him sleepily. "You okay, Malcolm?" 

"Just a dream," he said. His hands were damp with sweat, and he wiped them on the sheets. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, sitting up in bed. 

Yellow cat's eyes in the twilight. 

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do." 

~the end~


End file.
